


(Only Cecil is Allowed to) Kiss the Cook

by Starlithorizon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is a terrible cook, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:52:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil loves doing things for Carlos, including cooking. Unfortunately for the scientist, Cecil is <em>awful</em> at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Only Cecil is Allowed to) Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverlivingGhosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverlivingGhosts/gifts).



> I was talking with the always lovely EverlivingGhosts about Carlos cooking for Cecil, and after I figured out my headcanon with her help, I did this.  
> Let's be honest here, though: a lot of this was with her help because she's just the cat's knees. The idea for the apron was entirely hers, and and I may/may not want one for myself.

The first time Cecil cooked for Carlos, it had been very interesting, to say the least. Cecil was not a particularly adventurous cook, generally serving up what was considered standard fare in Night Vale, but that wasn't the problem.

Though he would never tell Cecil, lest he make that sad little _Oh_ again, Cecil was a _terrible_ cook. It wasn't that he only made strange Night Vale food (which was mostly true), but he consistently charred his food on the outside and left it raw on the inside. Never on purpose, mind you, but it was one of those things that _always_ happened. He could cook a simple TV dinner in the microwave and pull out a blackened mess three minutes later.

Now, Carlos was hardly a master chef, but he'd learned a thing or two during his first semester as a lowly undergrad, navigating the world of cooking on the shared apartment's crappy stove. He now had a decent repertoire of simple dishes for himself, and slightly fancier dishes for dates. He wasn't anything special, but he'd never set pasta, _boiling in water_ , on _fire_.

One night, on their sixth date or so, Carlos was in Cecil's apartment, watching warily as his boyfriend buzzed around the kitchen excitedly. This was the second time Cecil had insisted upon cooking for him, and while he appreciated the effort, Carlos already knew that he would _not_ appreciate the result of such labour. Cecil hummed The Weather under his breath, sang it softly as he sliced what Carlos was fairly sure were tubers, breathed it around muttered exclamations of pain as he nicked his hands.

"You okay?" Carlos would ask every time Cecil grunted in pain.

"Fine, fine!" Cecil would exclaim every time Carlos expressed his worry.

It was definitely endearing to see Cecil put forth so much effort for him, but it was concerning for several reasons.

"What are you making, anyway?" Carlos asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the granite surface of the island. Cecil had moved away from the distressingly bloodied possibly-root vegetables and onto a vaguely purple sort of meat. He saw it often in the display of the Ralph's butcher, but the label was in Russian, and Carlos was admittedly hesitant to eat _purple_ meat.

"Oh, something simple," Cecil said against all logic as he tried to slice the meat neatly and thinly. At best, he was just tearing off slightly smaller hunks. Cecil had terrible knife skills in the kitchen (and Carlos shuddered to think of what they might be like _outside_ of the kitchen). "Steak, potatoes, and green beans."

The pile of _things_ Cecil gestured to with his knife were neither green nor beans. They looked oddly and horrifically like fingers, and they were glowing more than made Carlos comfortable.

"Ah," the scientist said inelegantly. "Would you like any help?"

Thankfully, the radio host claimed that he was fine, and that Carlos improved the process simply by being there and by being _perfect_.

When Cecil came to the dining table, a plate in each hand, Carlos could barely restrained his muttered " _Dios mío!_ " at the sight. As he'd expected, every single thing on the plate was a stinking black mess. He was _not_ expecting it to be a stinking black mess that _glowed_ , though.

"I— Oh!" Carlos yelped as the meat _snarled_ at him when Cecil put the plate on the table. "Uh, thank you, Cecil."

"My pleasure, my darling, beautiful Carlos," Cecil rumbled.

Carlos moved the things around his plate a bit, just enough to make Cecil think that he was eating. He even moved his fork from plate to mouth, humming appreciatively all the while. It wasn't until Cecil just chucked the plates out the window (the preferred method of ridding oneself of leftover food, especially as it fed the hooded figures and kept them happy) that Carlos said anything.

"You know, you cook for me so often. I should return the favour one of these days," the outsider said softly as they curled together on the couch. It purred happily under their combined bulk, which was more comforting than frightening by now.

"Wonderful Carlos, I love cooking for you! Well, I'm not really all that fond of cooking, but I love doing things for you!"

Smiling softly, Carlos brushed light fingers over his boyfriends jaw.

"And that is the kindest thing anyone's done for me. But, uh, well, I _do_ love cooking, and it would be nice if you'd let me do it for you more often?"

"Oh, of course!" Cecil said exuberantly. Carlos let out a breath and let himself be kissed.

* * *

On their next night in, after all of Carlos's insistence that _he_ do the cooking, they found themselves in Cecil's kitchen once again. They'd made a quick run to Ralph's to pick up a few ingredients, and now Carlos was donning an apron gifted to him by his lovely radio personality. It was one of those standard and cheesy Kiss the Cook affairs, but there was a small arrow drawn in with Sharpie (legal only for drawing purposes, thank you), and the words "Only Cecil is allowed to" above the arrow.

Carlos grinned and pressed a light kiss to Cecil's cheek before getting to work.

Cecil was beyond thrilled with Carlos's admittedly mediocre chicken Parmesan, and Carlos felt it to be the victory that it was. He couldn't wait to show him the chocolate cake he'd spent all day preparing.

And even if Cecil was sometimes passive-aggressive over the airwaves about Carlos's propensity for forgetting dinner plans in lieu of scientific discoveries, he found that he was beyond happy to prepare dinner for the love of his life.

Though let's be really honest here: Carlos was mostly just happy that he didn't have to worry about glowing "green beans" anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> You can subject yourself to more overenthusiastic fandom-ocity over at my [tumblr](http://litbythestars.tumblr.com/), if you like. I'd certainly like it.


End file.
